


Everything in its Right Place

by OdinsBird



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Pack Family, Pack Feels, unashamedly so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OdinsBird/pseuds/OdinsBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a wood sprite.</p>
<p>She was a slight little thing; smooth dark brown skin to match the bark of most of the trees in the wood and eyes that seemed to cycle endlessly through different shades of green. Her hair was thick green vines and two big horns curled from the top of her forehead, their tips only reaching just under Peter’s chin. He knew this because she was currently curled against his chest gently purring.</p>
<p>Stiles was the first to break the silence (of course), “I think she likes you, dude.”</p>
<p>In which Peter gets a new housemate, fends off skeevy witches and tries to become a real boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything in its Right Place

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a sort of hazy period after season 3, before Nogitsune. Alpha Pack happened, Scott becoming Queen Bee of Alphas happened; but Allison, Isaac, Boyd and Erica are still around being badasses. This is my first time, be gentle!

It started with a wood sprite.

She was a slight little thing; smooth dark brown skin to match the bark of most of the trees in the wood and eyes that seemed to cycle endlessly through different shades of green. Her hair was thick green vines and two big horns curled from the top of her forehead, their tips only reaching just under Peter’s chin. He knew this because she was currently curled against his chest gently purring.

Stiles was the first to break the silence (of course), “I think she likes you, dude.”

“Really, what gave you that impression?”, Peter snapped trying desperately to disentangle himself and failing miserably as the sprite decided to climb up and attach herself to his back, curling her arms around his neck and beginning an odd musical chatter.

“Well you did kill the witch that had burned her tree down”, Scott suggested - rather unhelpfully in Peters’ opinion. It wasn’t as if he had blacked out in between the pack meeting and now. Admittedly, however, it wouldn’t exactly be the first time he’d come to in the woods covered in blood.

“I thought wood sprites would die with their tree?”, Allison managed to ask between trying to school her features into her usual aloof expression and failing due to the bizarre scenario unfolding in front of her.

“For a young sprite yes, but this one must be older if she can survive the death of her tree”, Lydia supplied managing to look thoroughly unimpressed with the whole situation while writing swiftly in a notebook.

Peter tried shaking the sprite off again, only for her to grip on tighter and let out a shrill peal of laughter, “So how do I go about getting her into a new tree?”, he growled.

“Why Peter”, Lydia’s cherry lip gloss smile was sharp, “here I thought you were a walking encyclopaedia on everything supernatural, it is why we keep you around after all.”

“About things that are dangerous and can potentially kill and maim, not supernatural beings who maintain the health of ecosystems”, Peter hissed.

Lydia merely raised an eyebrow and sniffed delicately, “she’ll have to chose a suitable match and then perform a bonding rite on the full moon.”

“Which isn’t for another month”, Allison helpfully supplied.

Stiles, who up until this point had been watching the situation unfold with great amusement in his amber eyes, suddenly let out a short bark of laughter.

“Oh man, this is gonna be great”, he wheezed.

* * *

 

Despite the years of being in a coma with minimal human contact outside of crazed hospital staff, Peter genuinely enjoyed being alone. He wasn’t like this before the fire, was always seeking the presence of others - of pack. He would always be the first to admit that he was, as his sister would always announce after one of their fights that always seemed to end in them laughing at one anothers stupidity, a complete dick. He was arrogant, stubborn and was acutely aware of his intelligence and attractiveness. But he carved out a space in his pack, where he was understood if not respected, and was anchored by their proximity, by the ties of a strong pack.

But revenge, death and rebirth have their costs. He’d made his bed with his current situation: not trusted but not exiled, involved in the pack but only in the situations that threatened them, not the nitty-gritty personal details.

And he liked it that way.

Totally fine with it.

He’d managed to convince the sprite (she seemed to understand common tongue but didn’t seem to be able to speak it) to unattach herself long enough for Derek to drive them back to his downtown apartment. And he both thanked and cursed whatever Gods were listening for the fact that the witch had decided to stir shit up in the early hours of a cold Tuesday morning, allowing him to smuggle his new house guest upstairs with no interruptions or prying eyes.

Managing to talk her into putting on clothes was easier than Peter had expected but the real challenge turned out to be sleeping arrangements.

“No no no….couch”, Peter managed to growl out despite being face down and exhausted in his bed.

Peter shifted his head up to glare at the sprite, who continued to stand in the threshold of his room with a mischievous look that eerily reflected the ones that Stiles was prone to from time to time.

Not that he was going to dwell on a certain loud-mouthed teenager while another supernatural being was in the room. Some things, especially infatuations with a boy almost half his age, were best kept private, especially when aforementioned loud mouth had a True Alpha for a best friend. Peter had died enough for one lifetime thank you very much - and if nothing else he hated repeating himself.

Peter threw back the covers and stomped back into the living room where he had piled a large collection of blankets and pillows on the couch. Peter was forever scarred from cold, hard hospital rooms and Mrs Collins down the hall was a keen knitter, so sue him if he had piled on the charm so he could score a constant stream of warm throws and quilts that had been deemed ‘not good enough for competition’ by her sewing group – though he was beginning to suspect she was just making excuses to continue to pamper him.

He picked up the newest addition to his collection (it had been left in front of the door with a note reminding him about their weekly tea date when he had gotten home that afternoon), a patchwork quilt made from various shades of green and draped it around the sprite’s shoulders.

“Hmmm, this one suits you actually”, he muttered.

The sprite examined the quilt closely, picking at a loose thread with her long fingers before tightening it around herself and pulling it up higher so only her eyes and horns were exposed.

“Yes very pretty, now go to sleep please little one”, the last word was muffled by a yawn.

The sprite looked at the couch then back to Peter before huffing and lying down.

Peter managed to crawl back into his bed before passing out instantly.

* * *

 

For the first time in years Peter woke slowly. His usual routine involved waking up several times throughout the night, sometimes screaming, sometimes partially transformed, but always with the smell and taste of burning death coating the inside of his mouth and back of his throat.

This morning was different; he felt warm and loose and was calmed by the soft humming coming from the warm body curled up behind him.

“Shit!”

He rather inelegantly startled, rolling off the bed and onto the floor. A pair of dark green eyes peered at him over the edge of the bed, crinkled with amusement.

“Oh god it is too early”, he moaned.

The sprite began to make a high purring noise in response and grabbed him by his wrist, hauling him back into the bed with unseen strength and making a point of arranging the both of them into the same position as before.

“Wait, no, not comfortable with spooning-"

She placed a hand over his mouth and continued humming the same song as before, and oddly, Peter found himself lulled back to sleep.

He woke a few hours later to an empty bed and the sound of the television in the main room. He stretched and rolled out of bed, feeling better than he had in years. He padded into the living room to find the sprite sitting on the couch watching the morning news wrapped in the same green quilt Peter had picked out for her the night before.

Peter couldn’t suppress a slightly hysterical giggle. Because of course a centuries old woodland creature with no personal space was going to be living with him but also sleeping in his bed. Of course the thing would know how to work a TV. Knowing Peter’s increasingly bizarre life she probably knew what the internet was and had already used most of his data.

Peter let out another giggle causing the sprite to turn and smile brightly at him with pointed yellow teeth in greeting.

“Fuck Beacon Hills, seriously”, he huffed as he ran his hands over his face.

The sprite hummed in agreement, nodding solemnly.

“So do you have a name?”

She nodded.

“But I take it you don’t have the ability to tell me…”

Another nod.

Peter recalled the little endearment he’d called her last night.

“I’m going to keep rolling with ‘little one’, I think it suits”

Another blinding smile and nod.

“Alright” Peter grinned, clapping his hands “that’s decided, now let’s fix up some breakfast”

* * *

 

The next few days were certainly enlightening for Peter, who learnt several important things.

First – sprites adore pancakes. They can and will eat their own weight in them (proven the first morning by a very bemused Peter and a very sated little one, eyes lidded and usually flat stomach rounded with maple syrup drenched goodness).

Second –Mrs Collins (“call me Nadia, darling”) from down the hall was a witch, though not one of the skeevy ones who tended to lean towards the more chaotic murderess side of the scale (hence Peter’s complete ignorance to the fact, at least that’s the excuse he’s using because good Gods he needs to get his nose checked out).

After managing to corral little one into the bedroom in order to have his standing tea date go down without causing suspicion (the only time they’d missed one in the 12 months of him living in the building was due to a death in Mrs Collins’ family and even then she was half considering skipping the funeral – she was a beast of habit), Nadia merely swept inside and went straight to the bedroom door, opening it and letting little one out and inviting her to tea. Nadia and little one got along famously, helped by the fact that Nadia was able to speak the same language. Sitting at the table between the two as they spoke – little one in her breathy, high pitched musical tone and Nadia in a deeper but still soothing cadence - had made something tug in his chest, an echo of a broken bond that he had refused to feel for so long.

Third – while sprites love pancakes they have a very violent and passionate relationship with raw beef. Peter almost lost his left arm to a very enthusiastic little one after bringing home some steaks for himself for dinner. Cleaning off in the bathroom after their brief scuffle (there was cow blood in his hair, gross) Peter looked at himself in the mirror and darkly muttered “so tree sprites eat meat, there’s another thing to add to my nightmare juice” before admitting defeat and going for a shower.

Friday evening rolled around and Peter found himself spending the day not dreading the weekly pack meeting. Usually he would make a point of sitting off in one corner making scathing remarks when he felt proceeding were dragging on too long and leaving before the pack bonding activities of movies and pizza.

He felt a sense of lightness knowing that little one would be there with him, more interested in making mischief than paying attention; and rather than heading home alone he’d have someone to go with.

After seeing little one practically swimming in one of Peter’s henleys and sweatpants Nadia had supplied a bag of clothes that her granddaughter had left before heading off to college. Little one had decided her favourite outfit was a plain black singlet, black tights and one of Peter’s grey hoodies. They’d had to roll the tights up due to her being shorter than Nadia’s daughter but the hoodie concealed her horns nicely.

The only issue was shoes. Little one hated them, and kept throwing them across the apartment and making more and more aggressive noises at Peter whenever he tried to convince her to put them on. One hour later, after a loud growling match followed but multiple pairs of shoes being dunked into Peter’s toilet they finally arrived at the meeting very late. Little one was wrapped around Peter’s back, bare feet curled around his middle.

Scott nodded as Peter stepped into the loft.

“Nice of you to join us”, he didn’t sound irritated or mocking, just looked highly amused at the sight in front of him.

Peter expected him to just move on with the meeting but instead Cora, Boyd, Isaac and Erica all stood up from their respective spots and approached him.

“Oh my god she’s freaking adorable”, Erica purred. Little one let out a small embarrassed squeak and burrowed her face into the back of Peter’s neck.

Trying to deflect their attention away from him Peter muttered “Apologies for being late, little one refused to put on shoes.”

“Little one?”, Stiles asked from his spot on the couch.

Peter tried his best at a one armed shrugged with someone on his back, “It’s what she prefers to be called.”

Erica let out another high pitched noise “Booooyd.”

Boyd crossed is arms and huffed, “No.”

Erica turned to him and upped the puppy eyes, managing to look even red lips pouting, “Can we please-“

“Absolutely not”, Derek snapped from Peter’s favourite armchair. Erica shot him a murderous look which was mirrored straight back.

“Doesn’t she have horns? Us four weren’t there the other night I want to see”, whined Isaac.

“Yeah are they like little cute nubbly ones or big ones?”, Cora added on, trying to get past Peter to see.

Scott let out an exasperated sigh, “guys, sit down, we’ll get through all this first and then we’ll move onto meeting…little one.”

* * *

 

Half an hour later Scott had completely given up on maintaining any kind of order. Despite her lack of verbal communication skills little one had managed to spark what would later become a pack tradition for resolving disputes – handstand wars (to this day Peter has no idea how the hell it happened).

The premise was simple: everyone paired up and, in sync with their partner, and every other team, would get into the handstand position; the team that could stay in the position for the longest won.

Stiles and Allison paired up, as did Isaac and Scott, Erica and Boyd, Cora and Derek and finally Peter and little one, leaving Lydia to judge and roll her eyes.

Of course due to the enhanced strength in the room (and Stiles’ freakish gymnast like abilities, much to Peters dismay) the competition devolved into filthy cheating within approximately 5 seconds.

Along with learning that Stiles can kick better while in a handstand then when he’s standing upright, the pack learnt the hard way that Derek gets a little bitey when he’s competitive. There was a reason Peter had to go to every training session and game when Derek was in the basketball team in high school.

Derek and Cora won (without even raising a sweat), while Stiles and Allison bagged second place and Peter and little one in at a respectable third.

“Alright, you guys are the losers, you go pick up the food”, Lydia demanded, pointing at the giggling huffing pile of Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Scott.

Peter picked himself off the floor, ready to make his excuses when Lydia whirled around, “and you, zombie boy, pick the movie” before strutting over to Allison to check that her girlfriend was in one piece.

* * *

 

“Okay so what about the Howling?”, Peter suggested as he held up the DVD cover for little one to inspect, “it’s pretty alright despite the fact that the werewolf at the end looks like a Pomeranian.”

Stiles cackled from somewhere behind them. “Oh my god I know right? 80s special effects at their best.” He slid off the couch onto the plush grey rug and sat down next to them in front of the bookshelf next to the DVD case which was crammed full with movies.

During the hellish few months that involved rescuing Boyd and Erica from the clutches of the Alpha pack, having yet another deranged psycho seduce him and sacrificing his Alpha powers in order to save Cora, Derek had seemed to reach some kind of epiphany. In the aftermath of the Alpha pack he re-did the loft, joining the top two floors of the building and making them into a safe-haven for all of them, a home where they could all be together. Peter had to appreciate the effort that was obviously put into the room on the second floor at the end of the hall on the left, right across from Derek’s, with its dark wood and wall of bookcases.

Peter kept waiting for Derek to say something, to get angry at him for rejecting his gift. Every now and then Peter would go and open the door and look at the empty shelves and blank spaces and feel that twist in his chest of needing but trying not to want. Standing on the threshold to what could be a fresh start he would find himself recalling every shitty thing he ever did to his nephew and feel it amplified in this space that Derek had carved out for Peter in his life.

Peter felt the shift in their relationship as soon as the renovation had been completed, the phantom feeling that the two of them had been pulling on a length of rope, fighting against each other and trying to pull the other over to their side by sheer rage and physical force for months on end, only to have Derek let go and take a step back, watching with a knowing look on his face and Peter fell in slow motion, no longer having a counter balance to keep him upright. Peter wanted to be angry, to slash and howl at his nephew, but instead all he could feel was the ache in his bones that told him that he had loved Derek once, that love no longer lingered but a fierce desire to protect did. Most of all Peter knew he couldn’t get angry at a man who had finally achieved the freedom of finally letting go.

There were rooms for all of the pack members and a few to spare (“you never know” Derek had said with a gentle shrug and small smile that had made Scott grin at him so hard Peter though cartoon love hearts were about to burst from his eyes). Every member had designed their room, but Derek had each of them add their own touches to various rooms. Isaac and Boyd had been enlisted in arranging a sleek and impressively stocked kitchen. The décor had been pulled together by Allison, Erica and Lydia – with rather gorgeous results (not that Peter had even admitted it out loud): floorboards, neutral tones and dark furniture with the odd flash of deep red. Derek had gotten Stiles’ help with the electronics, gruffly admitting that he was out of his depth before thrusting the floor dimensions and a budget at Stiles. And the teenager certainly didn’t disappoint, using his impressive skills to talk circles around the salesman until he managed to score a 75” TV, WIFI home theatre system and DVD cabinet for a ridiculously low price. Lydia was probably right when she said they were probably just trying to get him the hell out of their store, no matter what the cost. Stiles had an innate ability to cause chaos that Peter often found himself envying.

“How about Drive Angry?”, Stiles suggested, brushing against Peter’s shoulder as he pulled the case out for the wood sprite to look at.

Peter tried to hide the spike of sudden arousal that shot through him from prying werewolf noses by pretending to be really excited about the movie in front of him, aggressively nodding, “you can’t go wrong with Nicolas cage.”

Stiles shot Peter a slow, warm smile, doing nothing to help alleviate Peters’ previous issue. Little one winked at him and smirked over Stiles' shoulder.

“See man this is why you need to stop bailing on these things, you’ve got better taste in movies than the rest of these chumps.”

“That’s no way to talk about your Alpha!”, Scott shouted from the kitchen.

“You still haven’t seen Star Wars Scotty you cannot expect for me to take you, or your taste in movies, seriously”, Stiles sneered.

Peter wrinkled his nose in mock disgust, “how can you follow the lead of someone who hasn’t seen Star Wars?”

Little one let out a pleased purring sound, plucking the Blu Ray boxed set of Star Wars out of the case and holding it out for Peter to take.

Stiles grinned widely, and shouted “buckle up pups; it’s going to be a long night!”


End file.
